


A Rose by Another Name: a collection of fem!jolras fics

by Barricadesandliberties (kgril2987664)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Minor Character Death, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 01:45:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2529452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kgril2987664/pseuds/Barricadesandliberties
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras was probably the only girl Grantaire had ever seen stand up to an officer without much fear. Even though she was from the upper class in Paris she cared for the people. Grantaire had met her through Combeferre, and had fallen in love at first sight.<br/>Her speeches about equality and the oppression the king had put them through flew right over Grantaire’s head as he gazed longingly at those curls bounce as she moved her head. His thoughts were full of those beautiful lips touching his. Those hands touching his cheeks, her sweet smile…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Flaming Rose

**Author's Note:**

> These are all fics of a fem!jolras collection I have been writing. These are in the order I write them, so chronological order of the fics is nonexistent. Please don't point out that one fic is at one point, then the next is several years earlier, I know that they are out of order, I just put the chapters up as I finish them (finished them), so please don't mention that.  
> Other wise enjoy, and I love hearing feed back on my writing, so please comment.

“Enjolras are you sure this is the best choice for a person of your….gender.”

“Is that a poke at me being a girl, Combeferre?”

“No Chief. I’m just saying that maybe you should….with your stature.”

“If you’re suggesting that I stay home and knit while the people are oppressed you may as well leave.”

“No no, I’m just afraid you might get hurt, or overwhelm yourself.”

This was a long going arguement between the two revolutionaries. Enjolras, leader of the Les Amis de l’ABC, was a charming young lady. Her skirts were always clean, and her composure that of a lady of the court. Her mannerism on the other hand was that of a street urchin if that. Her passion for debate and the country never ceased to amaze the Amis as they watched their fearless leader sweep around the back room of the Cafe Musain, her red skirts billowing behind her.

Grantaire was the first to fall in love. He would watch in the evenings as she preached of change, raising her hands and frequently throwing books at him. Grantaire dreamt of her lips meeting his, and her beautiful smooth hand stroking his cheek. But Grantaire knew it would never happen, but it didn’t stop him from pursuing Enjolras.

“Oh Apollo. You are a beauty.”

“Excuse me?” Enjolras spun around to lay her large icy blue eyes on him. “If that’s you asking to buy me a drink the answer is no.”

“Apollo, you are my Apollo.”

Enjolras  would always shake her head and turn away. She always ignored him, until that fateful day.

……..

Grantaire woke to the shouts of the National Guard. Soldiers surrounded a woman in the room as he woke. He didn’t immediately realize who it was. Her long, beautiful, luscious blonde hair was torn out of it’s normal braid. It fell, sooty with ash and gunpowder, artistically around her face. Her blue eyes were missing their normal gleam. Her skirts were torn and ragged from climbing up the barricade. In all Enjolras was a broken woman.

“I’ll never give in. VIVE LA FRANCE!!”

Grantaire could hear the agony and desperation in her voice. She was at the breaking point. The point he never dreamed of seeing. His star was about to die.

“Vive la France.”

Grantaire’s voice was loud enough to attract the attention of the soldiers away from Enjolras. He, smiled as he watched Enjolras draw her pistol, cocking it to fire. Three soldiers stood between her, Grantaire, and freedom. One, two, the, five shots. Five shots, one connecting with Grantaire’s chest. Seconds after the last of the three soldiers in the room falls, Enjolras is at Grantaire’s side. She sobs as she tears away his shirt to look at the wound.

“You idiot. What were you thinking?”

“A pretty girl needed to be saved.” He says, brushing Enjolras’ bangs out of her flawless face. “You are a painting, to be seen, not to be burned.”

“Sh.” Enjolras presses her finger to his lips. “Save your breath, you need help.”

“Let me die, I’m just a drunk fool.”

Grantaire can see the tears brimming Enjolras’ eyes.

“But you’re my drunk fool.”

Grantaire sighs, cringing as pain surges through his body. He wanted to tell Enjolras everything, how much he loved her, but it wouldn’t come. He was dying and he couldn’t tell his love how much she mattered.

“Will you permit it?” He said as his eyelids fluttered.

“No.” Enjolras sobbed as Grantaire smiled, taking his last breath.

…...

“He gave his life for love.”

Enjolras’ eyes teared up as she gaved at the grave. Her curse was living, his was dying. They would never be together. He had sacrificed his life for her. She hadn’t seen him until it was too late, he was gone and she could never get him back.

 

 


	2. The Falcon and the Eagle

Enjolras knew the moment her father came home. The entire household went silent, scurrying about doing their chores as quickly as possibly, if only to avoid the wrath of the master.

Enjolras’ father was brutal if someone disobeyed his orders. His wrath was something Enjolras had felt all her life. The girl knew too much pain for how young she was. She understood that the world was brutal, that was why she wanted to change it. She wanted others to be able to escape the pain she couldn’t. She wanted people like her father to be punished.

“Joan!”

Her father’s voice was angry. Despite her fear, Enjolras stepped into the hallway.

“Yes Father?”

The words were sour. This man didn’t deserve to be called her father.

“Did you write these?” He pushed a handful of papers at Enjolras.

She recognised the documents. She had been searching for them earlier that day, intending to give them to Combeferre. She snatched them away from her father.

“And if I did.”

“Then you are no daughter of mine.”

The words were spat at Enjolras, worse than a slap to the face. She looked into her father’s eyes; the cold emotionless void they were.

“I wouldn’t want to be the daughter of a man who shows no compassion to anyone, even his own daughter. Am I just a dog in your eyes? Bred to obey your every command? Am I really just that Father?”

Her father just turned away. Not wanting to look at this disgrace to the family name. This only spurred Enjolras’ anger.

“I’m not going to always be your lap dog Father. I have a mind of my own, I don’t want to be your slave, doing whatever pleases Father. I’m not living that life anymore. If you want a daughter who will do your every bidding find yourself one, because I’m not going through it any more.”

Enjolras’ father stood in stunned silence for a moment. Enjolras turned away, satisfaction playing across her face. She had won. She had made the argument she’d been planning for years, and she knew she’d pay for it.

...

Her father’s belt hit her back, hard. She’d been stripped to her undergarments by her father. His belt hit her back again, making her cry out. She could hear her mother screaming at her father through the door, begging him to stop. The belt hit her too many times to count, making her back sting after every blow. Enjolras was glad when it was over, and her father finally stopped, dropping her to the floor.

“That will remind you who is the head of this house. Remember that the next time you think about defying my orders.”

Enjolras let herself lay motionless on the floor, playing the weakling her father wanted to see. Soon his footsteps were echoing down the hallway and her mother was gingerly helping her up.

“He was drunk darling, his actions don’t mean anything.” Her mother apologised for her father.

“No.” Enjolras pushed her mother off of her. “Stop lying to me. He’s done this too many times for this to just be another drunken rage Mother. I can’t stand this anymore, I’m going away.”

“Joan please. Give your father another chance.”

“No Mother. I’ve given him too many chances. It’s time that I live my life for myself, and not him.”

Enjolras strode off, her back bleeding heavily.

…

“Enjolras, what are you-”

“Father, rage, whipped me again.” Enjolras replied to Combeferre’s question, pushing past him into his apartment.

“Let me see it?” Combeferre closed the door, then helped Enjolras shrug off her coat. “What was it this time?”

“A few documents I had tucked away in my desk. Which shows that he had someone go through my things to find a reason to abuse me again.”

“How long has it been?” Combeferre said, stripping Enjolras’ various layers of garments off. With each layer the blood stains got darker and darker.

“An hour or so.”

“You’re still bleeding. He can’t have been that angry. Enjolras, please tell me you’re not going back there.”

Enjolras looked over her shoulder. “Is it that bad.”

“Enjolras, if he’d done much more you could have died.” Combeferre’s normally calm voice was now tinted with hints of panic as he reached the wounds.

Enjolras’ back was normally riddled with angry scars from where her father had whipped her. Combeferre had helped her clean the wounds before, but tonight was the worse he’d seen her. On her back were large, deep wounds, bleeding heavily. Her back wasn’t the normal pale color of her skin, it was an angry red accented with blood.

“I- Enjolras how did you get yourself here?”

“Is it really that bad? It really hurt, he just wouldn’t stop this time.” Enjolras’ voice was brimming with tears. “I just didn’t want my mother to see how bad it really hurt. He hits her, I know he does, when she defends me. I’m leaving them if more for her sake than mine.”

“Let it go. Don’t hold them back.” Combeferre crossed to the wash basin, filling a bowl full of water. “Sit down and I’ll clean you up.” He motioned to a stool near a table.

Enjolras sat down, tears now rolling down her cheeks. Combeferre wet a cloth, carefully cleaning out the gashes covering Enjolras’ back. Enjolras had always come to Combeferre when her father hurt her, letting him doctor her wounds and using his shoulder to cry on. He was the only person outside of her family that had seen Enjolras in this weak, defenseless state. He would always be there to lend her a shoulder to cry on.

“Do you think I made the right decision, defying his wishes?” Enjolras asked as Combeferre finished cleaning and bandaging her wounds.

“You made the decision. The only thing that matters is if you are happy with that decision. I will say that I’m happy you want to make change.”  Combeferre wiped Enjolras’ tears away, then left a quiet, affectionate kiss on her cheek. He smiled as he met her eyes, giving her all the support she needed. “Now, I know you’ll refuse, but you need some wine to numb the pain. I promise that it won’t be too strong.”

“No. I don’t want to drink the pain.”

“Enjolras don’t be ridiculous. You need to numb the pain.”

“No. I’m not drinking my feelings away. It will still hurt.”

Combeferre shook his head. He could see how hurt Enjolras was, even through her forced calm. She still had a tears falling down her cheeks.

“I need rest that’s all.”

“Then I insist you stay here tonight. I can fetch your things tomorrow and I know of a few people that may be able to help you get an apartment nearby.”

“Thank you. What can I ever do to repay you?”

Combeferre smiled as he answered. “Never give in.”


	3. Gardening

“We don’t know anything about their forces Enjolras, how are we supposed to put up a fight?”

Enjolras resisted the urge to scream at Combeferre. Instead she Pointed towards the streets beyond the barricades.

“We have the people, they will rally to our cry, we won’t need to know their numbers.”

“Enjolras, please, for your safety get down from there. You can’t just stand there unarmed, the enemy will shoot. Which brings me back to my point. We need to know the number of the enemy.”

“I will die a martyr. FOR THE GOOD OF THIS COUNTRY I WOULD GLADLY LAY DOWN MY LIFE!!” Enjolras yelled as Courfeyrac picked her up and carried her down from the top of the barricade. “If you would have let me stay up there I could have given you a count before I died.”

Combeferre smiled slightly. “Yes, but then you would be dead my dear. Now for a spy?”

“Fine.” Enjolras climbed slightly up the barricade. “My friends, we need a volunteer to infiltrate the enemy. Find out their number, and their plans.”

“I will go.”

The answer came almost immediately. An older man stepped forward. His clothes were quite clean for a working man, and his boots had certain shine to them. Enjolras knew she had seen the man’s face before, but she couldn’t place it.

“Monsieur, will you be able to get into their camp?”

Enjolras said descending from her position on the barricade.

“I have fought in their wars, I know their movements well. I can, and will, get you information.”

“Thank you. We are counting on you.” She waved the man off, then turned to Combeferre. “There, I sent a spy to get their numbers.”

“Was that really wise, you know nothing of this man, he could be an agent from the other side.”

…

“HE’S BACK!”

The cry carried across the barricade as the spy climbed over.

“What have you learned?” Enjolras’ impatient voice bombarded the agent.

“They have legions to spare. They plan to starve us before starting a fight, won’t attack until morning. They will attack from the right.” The agent hurriedly relayed.

“LIAR!”

Gavroche appeared from behind Courfeyrac, crossing to Enjolras.

“Mamselle, this is Inspector Javert. He’s nothing but a liar and a spy for the king.”

“Thank you Gavroche.” Enjolras thanked the boy.

Javert tried to run, but was seized by students.

“What should we do with the spy Enjolras?” Bahorel inquired. “Can we kill him?”

“No, the people will decide his fate. Put him in the tavern.”

Enjolras turned away as Javert was dragged into the nearby tavern. She didn’t like the angry, determined look in Javert’s eyes. Could he really have told their enemy everything? She didn’t want to think of what could be waiting. She sat down at the bottom of the barricade.

“Mamselle Enjolras? Do you want to know their plans?” The boy, Gavroche, was standing expectantly in front of her. He was bouncing on the balls of his bare feet, his hat askew, letting his dirt stained brown hair run wild under it.

“What did you find?”

“They don’t know how many we have, and they do plan to attack tonight. The army thinks we’re flies, but little people fight like twenty armies.”

“Yes they do. Thank you Gavroche.”

Enjolras pulled Gavroche to her side, half hugging him. He embraced her back. Enjolras wondered if his mother was worrying.

“Don’t you get hurt. I will never forgive you Gavroche.”

“I promise I won’t.” Gavroche said as Enjolras released him from her embrace.

 

 


End file.
